


Impression, Soleil Levant

by Tib



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Eventual Smut, Everyone is American, Humor, M/M, Professor!Snape, Student!Harry, WIP, a bunch of vulgar college kids, harry is HIGHKEY a lil whore, i'm sorry i don't know how the UK works, mad sex, pretentious yapping about monet, sex dude, since this is au and theres no war everyone is just a lil happier, snape is an art hoe, we STAN
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-05-18 03:25:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14844761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tib/pseuds/Tib
Summary: Harry Potter is late to the first day of class and it was all because of Ronald Weasley exploiting Harry's love for coffee. Now, his Art History professor hates him and Harry can't help but want to be his friend.“At sunrise, everything is luminous but not clear.” -Norman Maclean





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I have to say that as much as I've worked on this, I don't like it. I wish I could write better if I were honest with you. I was hoping for a more pretentious vibe, but instead, I'm left with something that feels a little closer to a crack fic. HOWEVER, I decided I wanted to put this out anyway because the only way to get better is to write. I'm open to comments and criticism. In the meantime, let's see where this takes us.  
> P.S. I totally wrote this from Harry's point of view because he's less eloquent and easier to write than Severus is. Thanks for being a little stupid Harry. Love ya kiddo.

_“At sunrise, everything is luminous but not clear.” -Norman Maclean_

Harry Potter is late to the first day of class, and it was all because of Ronald Weasley exploiting his love for coffee.

“Harry,” Ron had said, a deviant smile stretched across his lips, “If you jump from the top of the banister, I’ll buy you coffee from that shop ya like for a whole week.”

Well, as it is, Harry has been broke as shit for a whole month and hasn’t tasted a proper cup of coffee in far _too_ long. So he was happy to oblige.

Now, his leg is in a cast, and he must limp on his crutches across campus to get anywhere. By the time he approached his classroom (which is on the second floor because that was just his luck), he’s already 10 minutes late.

Harry feels lost. A sense of doom and failure has been looming over him since the freshman year ended. He reminds himself that there are probably other students that are as confused as him, but it never helps. It’s isolating, feeling this way.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Harry mutters under his breath. Overwhelming anxiety comes over him, and a rotting sense of self-consciousness fills him. For a moment he considers ditching on the first day, but he knows he'd feel like shit if he did. So, gathering all the courage he has, he opens the door and goes to class.

Unfortunately for Harry, the room is silent as he walks in. He can imagine how he must look, coming in on crutches with dark circles under his eyes and untameable hair appearing worse than it usually does thanks to the wind. He hopes that his professor will be considerate of his current situation and let him limp his way to a seat with no problem. 

“Ah, the first tardy of the year.” A voice draws Harry’s attention from the floor. The professor’s dark eyes are pinning him in his spot, making Harry’s face warm red. His eyes flicker over Harry’s body. “Not the last I should expect from you, I imagine.”

Harry bristles at the assumption and his lips thin in annoyance, though he doesn’t respond. _What an asshole,_ he thinks. _What was his name again? I saw it when I enrolled, but I can’t remember. Snap? Snapple?_

“Your... _disability_ is no excuse for tardiness. Take a syllabus and find a seat.”

Harry walks towards his professor’s desk with his head down, if only to keep from snapping back at his new teacher. Instead, Harry decides to apologize, even though he has no reason to be sorry. Harry is an adult who can _totally_ act civil and be the bigger person.

 _I’m gonna talk to that motherfucker after class and show him how goddamn respectful I can be,_ he thinks to himself as he takes a seat in the front row. As the professor returns to lecturing, Harry looks over the syllabus and finds the professor’s name is Severus Snape, and that the man has a _doctorate_ in _art history_. Harry rolls his eyes at the thought of wasting years and money for a doctorate in art history.

As Harry’s last bits of residing embarrassment finally leave him, he forces himself to focus on _Doctor_ Snape’s voice. Harry surprises himself when he realizes he finds Snape’s voice attractive. It’s deep and low, if not bit nasally, but still pleasant. Snape pauses and drawls out syllables unnecessarily as if he’s caressing every letter.

His accent makes his voice ten times sexier, and it pisses Harry off how attracted to it he is.

"We'll be covering eight units. Starting Wednesday, we shall go over the art and architecture of ancient Greece. I ask that you do not bring laptops or any other form of technology into this classroom as a way to take notes. I will confiscate it. Furthermore, I do expect the best from my students. You should engage and be active in your education. We will have discussions on each unit. If you choose not to participate in them, you will fail this class. A total of four essays will be assigned over the course of the semester. The last paper will be a movie review. If the class misbehaves…” Harry swears Snape’s eyes flicker to him as he says this and Harry frowns back at the sour man, nose wrinkling in distaste. “Then that privilege will be provoked.”

Harry loses interest as the class goes on, but thankfully it doesn't last long. Dr. Snape seems to be the kind of teacher that doesn't want to be in class either, so he dismisses it as soon as he finishes going over the syllabus.

Strengthening his resolve, Harry moves towards his professor’s desk as student’s file out and forces a pleasant smile.

“Professor… I want to apologize for interrupting class. It's just that I underestimated how much time it would take to make it here on my crutches and so I—" 

Harry’s smile falls when Snape cuts him off with a cutting remark. “Are you also going to apologize for interrupting my precious free time, then? You see, Mr…?”

“Potter.” Harry bites out.

“You see, Mr. Potter, I don’t care. If you're late again, so be it. I don’t need any pathetic excuses.”

Okay, so Harry's never been so good at keeping his temper in check, and he snaps. "So, what? You'll go out of your way to humiliate me if I’m late again?”

For the first time during the conversation, Professor Snape looks away from putting his things away and focuses on Harry. A curling smirk forms on his lips and Harry can see his black devil eyes fill with mirth. “ _Absolutely_.”

With a huff, Harry turns his back on his teacher and makes his way out.

“Oh, and Mr. Potter? Do remember to address me as Doctor Snape. Unlike _some_ students, I strived for success." Snape says after him.

Harry storms out of the classroom and dreads the upcoming semester.

***

Harry’s other classes run much smoother than Art History with Dr. Snape, and soon he’s back home.

“I’m back!” He calls into the house. It’s a simple house and lame in appearance, but there’s a total of 4 bedrooms, which allowed Harry to rent out the other three rooms to his friends.

“I fucking hate you, Ronald Weasley!”

…And, Harry can’t say it ever gets boring living with friends.

Shouts and the sound of stomping feet echo through the house. Lavender Brown screeches obscenities as she storms down the stairs, bag in hand. She pushes Harry aside as she storms outside, slamming the door behind her.

Ron onto the banister after her, zipping and buttoning up his jeans. Hickeys litter his neck and chest, and Harry has to swallow down some vomit at the sight of him.

“What happened there?”

Ron shrugs. “I honestly have no clue. One second I think I might get laid, and then all the sudden she’s hitting me and screaming about how I’m mean and insensitive.”

Harry considers him. “You do realize you’ve been using her since the beginning? For sex?”

“I know that… I just thought _she_ knew that. That’s why I didn’t say it back when she told me she loved me.”

Harry puffs out a laugh of disbelief. A tangle of dark hair appears behind Ron and out steps Hermione, whose glaring fiercely at Ron. “You’re a misogynistic pig, Ronald.”

“She knew it wasn’t a relationship! We were only supposed to fool around, you know?” Ron defends himself, hurriedly stepping down the stairs, away from Hermione to avoid any possible physical attacks to his person.

“Well, I for one am extremely grateful that you pissed her off,” Harry comments, kicking his shoes off as Hermione’s steps down the stairs. Harry put on a high pitched voice and starts moaning an imitation of Lavender. “Ooooh, Ron! Yes, daddy, fuck me harder, uuuuunn!”

Hermione hides a giggle behind her hand as her face warms and they make their way to the living room. “Lavender was faking all of it.”

“One, don’t ever moan my name ever again, Harry. Seriously,” Ron shivers and sticks his tongue out, mocking a gag. “And two, I don’t care that she was faking it, because I sure as hell wasn’t.”

Ron plops down on the couch, and Harry takes a seat on the other end. Hermione sits on the loveseat next to them and grimaces. “Okay, I don’t want to talk about your sexcapades anymore. How were classes for you, Harry?”

At the mention of it, he groans and rolls his eyes. “I have the biggest douchebag for a teacher in Art History. He embarrassed me in front of the class for being late, he insulted me by making some assumptions about me being a bad student, and he’s so _ugly_. He’s pale, and his teeth are all crooked. His nose is _huge_ and obnoxious. I can't stand him."

“Oh, you have Doctor Snape, the professor from England? I had him for Humanities last year, but I don’t recall him being that awful. Admittedly, he was a bit strict…” Hermione furrows her brow in thought. “You must have made a bad first impression. I’m sure you can fix it.”

Ron nods thoughtfully in agreement, clasping his hands behind his head. “Yeah. Besides aren’t you the one that says the bigger the nose, the better the face is to sit on, Harry?”

“Ronald!” Hermione chastises him, face blushing at the vulgarity. “Honestly, it’s as though all the manners your mother taught you got tossed out the window.”

Harry laughs because he knows for a fact that that he did say that. And it's true. Gathering herself, Hermione sits up a little straighter and looks at Harry pointedly. “Go to class and keep your temper in check. I’m sure after a while he’ll warm up to you.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, though he’s doubtful that it will get any better. “I guess so.”

Hermione can sense Harry’s weariness and stands, “Let’s cook dinner and pig out. Ron and I bought groceries today, so I think we have enough food to make anything you’d like, Harry.”

Dinner goes by with lots of jokes passed back and forth. Ron laughs so hard he spits food all over the table at one point.

“If I hadn’t spit it, I would have _choked and died_. Is that what you want, Hermione? My death? You care more about my table manners than my own life!”

After Ron’s dramatic episode is over, they all go their separate ways. Ron goes out to a party, as he does every night, even though he should be reviewing for the Law Enforcement Entrance Exam. Hermione goes up to study. Since the new semester started, Harry knows she won’t be very involved with anything other than her schoolwork.

And Harry sits in his room and hopes that the next time he sees Dr. Snape, their interaction will be more pleasant than their first.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beauty and art. Which inspires hate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, well, I feel better about this chapter than the previous one. So, that's cool. A little shorter than I'd like, but I hope you guys don't mind. I worry sometimes that my style and tone changes too much. I don't want people to feel like they're reading two different books when reading this. So, if there's anyone out there that'd be happy to beta for me, please let me know. Catching grammatical errors is easy, but this... not so much.  
> Okay, time to end my self-conscious rant. Please enjoy! xx

_“Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.” -Mark Twain_

_“Harry?”_

_He stood before a painting of bright and beauty. He glared fiercely at it, angered by how happy it looked because it was such a lie._

_“Harry.”_

_The canvas was splattered with a red and orange sky above a field of pansy flowers. There were no hard details, only soft strokes that melded together and created the picture._

_The canvas, to Harry, was a white elephant._

_“Harry, son, we should go home.”_

_In the background, Harry could hear the crowd’s voices like static that crawled its way up the base of his neck to the back of his head. Following the static was the light caresses of fire, tickling its way up the curve of his neck; the beginning of anger, hatred._

_“Harry!”_

_He moved his attention from the painting to his dad, finally acknowledging him._

_“Let’s go home, son.”_

_“Mom’s not coming.” It wasn’t a question._

_James shook his head. “No. You know she has to stay behind. It’s her own exhibit.”_

_Yeah, Harry knew that. Since Harry could remember, his mom always dedicated her life to her art. It even bled out into her parenting—Harry knew more about artists and their processes than he ever cared to._

_“She doesn’t have to. She could come home. With us.”_

_A frown marred his dad’s face, eyes suddenly blue with sadness. “I’m sorry, kiddo.”_

_Harry turned his head, looking for the red hair he knows so well, though sees sparingly. He spotted it—the flaming head of his mother. Briefly, he saw her as bodies parted, letting him get a glimpse of her laughing. Her head was thrown back, her face warmed and glowing due to the wine she'd been drinking. She said something to the group around her, and their chuckles reached Harry's ears._

_“She looks happy.” He said, not bothering to hide his bitterness._

_His dad sighed, “Work makes her happy.”_

_“Does she like them more? Than us? Do they make her happier?”_

_“No,” James hurried to soothe his son. “Of course not. It’s just_ _…_ _her work is important to her.”_

_More important than Harry._

_Harry was fourteen when he realized he hated art._

***

Before Harry knew it, it’s time for their first discussion in art history. He’s anxious but confident. This class comes as a breeze to him, but Snape still seems to have a vendetta against Harry no matter how well he does on the subject.

"I'm only here to observe and offer questions to help move along the discussion. Again, if you don't have anything to say that's relevant to the topic, you will fail this discussion. If you receive an F on more than two discussions, you receive an automatic F in this class. Now, let's begin."

Dr. Snape starts it, and suddenly the conversation is rolling. Harry just listens, too hesitant to add anything just yet. He’s set on impressing his professor and earning some respect. Or at least receiving the right _not_ to be insulted nearly every day in class.

He watches his classmates talk, and while they know what they’re talking about, they lack a specific, more profound knowledge that Harry knows he can provide. So why is he having trouble speaking up?

“Potter,” Harry shivers at the harsh tone of Snape’s voice, “Do you have nothing to contribute? Or should the clueless look on your face be taken as a sign that you don’t know what’s being talked about?”

A few snorts and short laughter comes from the class. Snape smirks at him, eyebrow raised with self-satisfaction. Harry can read his thoughts: _I’ve got you. You know nothing_.

“Ask me a question.”

Amusement flickers in the professor’s eyes at the challenge, but it’s gone quickly. He snorts and dismisses him. “I think the class is over. There will be no need—”

A slam resonates through the room; Harry slammed his fist on his desk. It surprises everyone, even himself. “Ask me a question!”

Snape’s eyes linger on Harry’s face, sizing him up. His eyes then narrow in pure anger, and Harry thinks, horrified, that he might have pushed his professor too far.

To Harry’s relief, Dr. Snape concedes. “Name some of the influences the Greeks has on the modern world.”

It’s an easy task, and it’s clear to Harry that Snape doesn’t think he’ll be able to answer it.

“The Greeks had several influences on today, ranging from democracy to mythology. Like, we use the saying "Achilles’ heel" when referencing someone's weak spot," Harry pauses here, a pointed look thrown to Snape, who looks unimpressed. He pushes on, "We even took from them the idea of trial by jury."

Harry spares a moment to appreciate the irony.

He looks to his own personal jury, the students. “Another impact they have on modern society, which no one ever seems to talk about, is their conceptualization of the idea of beauty and what it is. I mean, the debate between the earliest of philosophers was over whether or not beauty is subjective or objective, and people still talk about stuff like that. Of course, the Greeks had their ideal beauty. Men were often depicted as strong, all muscle-y and stuff. Sometimes their faces were older to symbolize wisdom, but their body was young. To have both was pretty ideal for them. Women with more natural beauty were appreciated, and they were usually well fed, ya know? A lil chunky.

“Though I guess you would have to define the standards of beauty between their culture and ours, but it’s pretty obvious to me that symmetry and youth and stuff like that are some standards shared between us. Like, Plato created this idea about Forms, which were just universal ideas that represented ideal thoughts, and beauty was one of them.”

Harry has an afterthought and adds, “If anything is to be said about us as a species, it’s that we’ve always liked pretty things.”

A pregnant silence fills the room, and Harry looks to his judge. Dr. Snape has carefully blank face, arms crossed.

“Class dismissed.”

The atmosphere in the room is tense, and the students are more than happy to leave. Harry follows at a slower pace, a sense of pride and accomplishment filling him. He felt like he won a war.

“Except. You.”

…or maybe not.

At the apparent anger in Snape’s voice, Harry flinched. The last lingering students scrambled out, for fear of getting caught in the crossfire.

Standing tall, lips thinned, Harry moves to quell the teacher’s anger before any damage can be done, “Dr. Snape, I didn’t mean to—”

A quick streak of black and in a few strides Snape towers over Harry, head lowered to speak down to him. “If you _ever_ embarrass me in front of my students ever again I'll have you expelled!" he snarls, spittle flying. 

Harry thinks now would be an excellent time to learn to keep his temper in check, but Harry has never been a quick learner with regards to his emotions.

“Embarrassed? _You_? For the last few weeks, I’ve come to class knowing I’ll be used as your personal jester. You humiliate me to get off, and I’m fucking tired off it! I’ve done nothing to you to earn that type of... of degradation!”

Another pregnant pause. Harry feels Snape’s ragged breath hit his face and he notices just then how close they are. His face and body warm with the realization, and he steps away. When Harry comes to understand what he had said entirely, he bows his head, ready for whatever consequences await him. Harry doesn't regret what he said, per say, because they felt good to say, but he does regret how he said them. The familiar sting of self-hatred hurts him, and he admonishes himself.

_Why can’t I hold my tongue?_

A laugh causes Harry’s head to snap up. Snape was shaking his head in disbelief as his shoulders shook with laughter. _He was laughing_

“You sounded like a fucking book.”

"Huh?" Confusion is written on Harry's face in lowered brows and wide eyes.

“Talking about the Greeks and beauty… you sounded like a textbook. It was as though you rehearsed them.”

Shock still in him, Harry shakes his head, “I didn’t... I just knew it.”

“I know you did,” Snape's eyes hold Harry’s own, and it’s as if they’re both seeing each other for the first time. “I admit I was… impressed.”

“So… I’m not in trouble?”

"No," he shakes his head. "I know I'm often strict, but I will never punish a student for knowing this subject. For learning."

The relief that floods Harry is welcomed, quelling his nerves like water thrown onto fire.

“Thank you. I-I am sorry about yelling at you…” Harry trails off, unsure where this conversation would take him.

“I accept your apology,” Snape hesitates before he adds, “I’m not a man who likes to say sorry, but I am. Sorry.”

The grin the stretches across Harry’s face is nearly painful, but he doesn’t care. At the sight of it, Dr. Snape glares, arms crossing with a huff. "Leave. Now."

The return of his professor usual sour demeanor does nothing to ruin Harry’s bouncing good mood.

“Okay! Have a good afternoon, Dr. Snape!” He heads out the door, the smile never leaving his face.

But, there’s a lingering feeling of longing that Harry can’t understand, can’t process. He’s not sure he wants to know what it means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say all that Greek bullshit Harry spews is all from memory and quick skims of internet articles. Let me know if anything sounds wrong there!  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late, very late, but oh well. I have no regrets. Okay, I do, I feel guilty, but fuck, yknow? Life isn't so forgiving sometimes, but you guys get it.  
> So, I wrote this. I don't feel great about it, but who cares? Someone will enjoy it, right? Right????  
> Oof, I sound insecure. I'm just quirky like that, haha, lol, ha.  
> That was a joke.  
> I gave it a go—I wrote from Snape’s POV. It made it easier to finish this as much as it made it harder. But I think I did the best I could.  
> Also.. how would ya’ll feel about a snarry fic where Harry is in the rodeo but gets left behind and becomes Snape’s ranchhand. I KNOW it sounds insane, but be honest... it sound hilarious?? right? I want to write it so bad!!!  
> Anyway, I'm fucking tired. I hope you all enjoy!!!!!!  
> PS: sorry for the rambling im working on like 2 hours of sleep.

_“The heart was made to be broken.” - Oscar Wilde_

_His tongue is pushed up onto the roof of his mouth behind clenched teeth. God, he was furious._

_“Severus?”_

_He turned from her, afraid of what he’d do if he saw her pitiful looks and fake sympathy. He clenched his fists. He didn’t want to see her. He didn’t want to see her. He didn't want to see her._

_Because fuck him for losing something so beautiful._

_“Severus? Are you okay?”_

_Severus flinched away from the hand she placed on his shoulder, a groan leaving him. Her touch was soft and caring, but it burned him._

_“I changed my major for you. I took this job for you. I moved to America for you. I changed my whole life for you. I melded myself around you. I did everything I could so you would be happy. And now_ _…_ " _Severus trailed off, tears of frustration and heartbreak filling his eyes. They stung._

_“Severus. Are you_ _…_ _?”_

_He found it in himself to face her. He noticed the surprise on her face, and his frown deepened into one of confusion._

_“I don’t_ _…_ _I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry, Sev.”_

_Severus thought of it for a moment. No, he realized, she had never seen him cry. He never had a reason too._

_He shared the thought with her._

_“If you had before,_   _if you had shown more of yourself to me, maybe_ _…_ " _She shook her head, a quick tear falling. She wiped it away as quickly as it came._

_“You never lived for yourself, Sev. Only for me. I never knew you.”_

_“I suppose now you never will.”_

_It was a soft-spoken heartbreak, but Severus knew he never wanted to feel it again._

***

“Severus, hun, how many times have I told you that you need to organize your office more?”

Severus doesn’t try to bother his disdain as he glares towards his mother. “Why are you here?”

“Can’t I visit my baby boy?”

 _No, you cannot._ Severus thinks but decides not to voice it. The last thing he wants is to anger his mother. Her wrath is incorrigible.

“What do you want?”

Eileen Snape is a bubbly woman, full of love she is more than happy to share. Her silver hair reaches the middle of her back, framing her round face. Her age is apparent, but it’s clear she’s a youthful woman, especially considering the flowers tucked behind her ear. Severus often wonders if he was adopted.

The dark-eyed glare he receives in response, however, is undeniable proof that Severus is Eileen’s son.

“I wanted to see you. Don’t make me nag you, young man. I didn’t come here to nag.”

_And yet, that is precisely what you will do._

At first, moving to America was unfortunate, but knowing he’d have to bring his mother along was more so. He hadn’t wanted her around him at all, but to leave her alone back in England, well… As appealing the thought was, Severus was not so heartless.

He only frowns in response, putting his reading glasses back on and letting them sit on the edge of his nose. He resumes his grading, as his mother begins to prattle on about some old woman gossip going around in her book club. Despite his lack of interest, he comments on her stories, sometimes adding sincere comments amongst his snide ones.

“… and then that raggedy bitch Joanne pulls out pictures of her grandbabies. And then Sarah, then Elizabeth, then Jade. They all have grandbabies! All of them! And what about me? I have one son who went through one tiny divorce and decides never to marry again!"

With a tired sigh, Snape removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “I’d prefer not to discuss this. Please.”

Eileen reaches forward and grasps his free hand tightly. "Of course. I _am_ sorry for always bring it up. I’ll be happy if I never have grandchildren and only have you. I just want you to be happy Severus, and I’ve been so worried for you since Clara left. Is there not anyone at all that’s caught your eye?”

“No.” Severus gives a firm answer, yet his voice wavers. He clears his throat, suddenly annoyed. “Not at all.”

There’s a beat of silence before his mother gives in with a sigh and continues to complain about those “bitches” from book club.

And then she leaves him with a kiss on the cheek and homemade treacle tart.

Severus resumes his grading. The next paper he comes across is none other than Harry Potter’s.

The doctor’s eyes swim across the page, greedily reading every word the boy had written.

Harry’s writing style is very humorous. His sarcasm bled through the ink, and Severus catches himself chuckling a few times. But more impressively, Harry knows what he is talking about. And well, Severus hasn't had a student in a long while that could entertain him quite like young Potter did.

After reading the boy’s paper, Severus leans back in his chair, lips pursing in thought.

At first, Severus thought nothing of the boy. He had walked into class with a broken leg and had a wind-blown look about him. The gall the boy had. He should have been more prepared if he knew he’d be waddling all the way to class pathetically.

Still, Harry never shows up tardy anymore, despite his physical ailment. It infuriated Severus. He is not a kind man, he knows. Quite frankly, he was looking forward to having someone to antagonize, but it became clear that Harry is a resilient boy who could hold his own. If anything, that bothered Severus more.

_“Ask me a question,” Harry demanded, apparently determined to prove himself._

He scowls and writes an elegant A on Harry Potter’s paper.


	4. AUTHOR’S NOTE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a chapter, but important information!

Surprise! This isn’t a chapter! Lol v sorry. Lol no I’m not. Lol jk.

Basically, my dudes,,,.. I hate this story.

I think the only issue is that it’s set in a university and Snape is Harry’s professor and bleeeeeh. I just don’t want to write all that drama that goes into a student/professor relationship. It doesn’t appeal to me.

so.... I altered the setting a bit, and I’ve created a very similar story that I think would suit me better.

 

> _Severus Snape decides to feature the up and coming artist, Lily Potter, at his art exhibition. To his surprise, he meets a young man there whose opinion on her work differs greatly from his own._

So, yes, that’s what I’ve thought up. Pretty sweet right? Since it’s the new year, I really wanted to focus on finishing something I’m proud of, and _Impression, Soleil Levant_  isn’t that. It needed a change.

if anyone is upset that I’ve decided to abandon this work/change it completely, well, soz, but that’s what you get for reading a work in progress. WIPs are very risky to read. It’s like gambling, ya feel?

anyway, definitely leave your thoughts/comments. I’d love feedback.

 

psssst.... while ur at it.... check out my snarry one shot titled "Squatching"

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my tumblr! snarryberry.tumblr.com


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